What I wrote in youth doesn’t haunt me though the ink dries to dust. Some images remain, most ideas have fallen, empty shells, cracked, the living thing in them long since escaped like past friends we held close, sometimes making love, mostly hanging tight against the empty foreboding of what would come. The emptiness, it turns out, contains more than it can help, a T.A.R.D.I.S. larger on the inside than the outer looming shape had suggested. And not only memories, many of those faded with the inky dusk. That vacuum draws in sensual depths, companionship— new friends who came, and the old who remain— and occasionally, an old poem worth reading. Bio: Writer, artist, & editor, Michael Dickel's work appears in print & online. His poetry has won awards & been translated into several languages. His latest book, Nothing Remembers received a Feathered Quill Book Award for Poetry. Other recent books: Breakfast at the End of Capitalism & a flash fiction collection, The Palm Reading after The Toad’s Garden. He is editor of The BeZine (TheBeZine.com).